Shakespeare's Globe (6 page)

‘She does, sir,’ I said quickly. ‘I left a letter, saying where I was going.’

He relaxed a little. ‘In that case, you may sleep here. There is a mattress I sometimes use. You can curl up behind the scribe’s table. It is the warmest part of the tiring house
– the least draughty, at any rate.’

I knew that. The scribe had to be warm or he could not write clearly.

‘Can Hoppy stay, too, sir?’ I asked.

Master Shakespeare smiled. ‘Of course. You must not be entirely alone. The outer doors will be locked, so you will be quite safe.’ He picked up his keys. ‘You must be
hungry,’ he said. ‘I will buy some food for you.’

He stopped at the tiring house door. ‘Richard Burbage gave you a part in
Romeo and Juliet
?’

I nodded.

‘We are doing that play shortly,’ he said.

A thrill ran through me. Everything had been worthwhile! I couldn’t stop grinning.

‘But,’ Master Shakespeare continued,‘when Burbage learns what you have done, he will almost certainly change his mind.’

I spent a miserable night listening to rats scurrying beneath the floorboards, and dreading what morning would bring. Surely they wouldn’t send me away?

Would they?

As the tiring men arrived and began their various tasks, I made myself useful. I thought it best to have people thinking well of me.

The players came in, cursing the damp weather, until finally Master Burbage arrived with Master Shakespeare, deep in conversation. Eventually Richard Burbage glanced at me, then spoke to Master
Shakespeare, who nodded, and came over.

I made tears come into my eyes, like I’ve seen older boys do when they play women’s parts.

‘Richard is angry, Billy,’ said Master Shakespeare. ‘I have written to your mother – the inn people will know where she lives, no doubt. I have assured her that we did
not make you leave home and come to the Globe. I cannot risk her accusing us of kidnap—’

‘I am sure she would not, sir,’ I said.‘There was the letter I left for her.’

He nodded. ‘I had forgotten that. Even so, you have done wrong. However, you may stay here, as you have nowhere else to go, but you must work.’

‘I will, sir, I will!’

‘The work will be hard,’ said Master Shakespeare. ‘And it will be long. Oh, one other thing, Billy.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Those tears in your eyes,’ he said. ‘Real or faked?’

I hung my head, ashamed that he had caught me out.

‘Faked, sir,’ I said. ‘I am truly sorry.’

He put his hand under my chin and tilted my face up. He was smiling!

‘I believed they were real,’ he said. ‘That was fine acting.’

I treasured those words over the next two long, hard days. I spent the mornings sweeping, scrubbing and cleaning everything that stood still. All the time I kept an ear and an eye on the players
as they rehearsed. I listened, watched and learned.

Each afternoon, a flag of red, black or white was hoisted to announce whether the play would be a history, tragedy or comedy. Just before it was due to start the trumpeter played a blast to warn
latecomers to hurry to pay the gatherer a penny, which he would put through the slot in his money box. Those who could afford it paid an extra penny and took their seats. As the crowd poured in,
the noise grew, and the yard filled with groundlings, who had to stand, and food sellers, all chatting, laughing or calling to each other. Some leaned forward to gaze at the heavens. That’s
what we call the ceiling above the stage. It is painted with a sun and moon and stars, and is supported by two marble pillars. Well, they
look
like marble, but they are really made of wood,
cleverly painted.

It was so exciting!

Soon I was busy showing nobles to the lords’ rooms high on either side of the stage, and I fetched cushions for those on the benches who were willing to pay an extra penny not to get a
stiff behind.

During the performance, I stood at the back of the lords’ rooms, ready to fetch food or drinks for anyone who wanted them.

After the play, when the audience had left, I would take a stiff brush and a bucket of water outside, and scrub down where men had gone outside to pee in corners. That was really the job of Nick
Ratter, who is well named. He has a face like a rat, and he does the dirtiest jobs in exchange for free ale. The trouble is, he drinks his ale too quickly, then he turns against me, and orders me
to do his work. I do not complain, ever. I want the company to think well of me. They do not take kindly to grumblers. A company must work together for the good of the play, Master Burbage
says.

After the wall and corners were scrubbed clean, I hung costumes to air. If I saw any damage, I alerted the tiring-man in charge of costumes, and he would get it mended. If it was valuable or
delicate, I placed it in a basket for young Mistress Dippity. She was trusted with the finest needlework. I liked it when she came, because she always brought me something tasty to eat, and a bone
for Hoppy.

I was exhausted by the end of the day but happy to be soaking up the life of the playhouse and the players.

Nothing they gave me to do put me off wanting to be part of that life. But still I yearned to act.

One evening, Master Shakespeare came across while I was sitting on the ground, teaching Hoppy to roll over.

I looked up and said, ‘I should never have run away. It was all for nothing.’

‘Why so?’

‘I missed my chance to be on stage,’ I said. ‘I truly thought it would be the beginning of me learning to be a player. All I wanted to do was walk on and act – I
didn’t expect to have words to say. Not yet. And now it’s over, all because everyone is angry with me.’

Expecting him to walk away, I looked down and, without thinking, I flipped my hand, telling Hoppy to do a somersault. He obediently jumped over backwards. I signalled to him to do it again.

Some passing players laughed at Hoppy. ‘That was good, Billy,’ said one.

Then Master Shakespeare’s voice said, ‘What a clever dog. Can he do anything else?’

‘He can die for the king,’ I said, and gave the signal, two quick pats of my hand on my leg. Hoppy flopped down and lay on his side as if dead.

‘Call him,’ I said. ‘He will not move until he hears my signal.’

One of the players tried. Hoppy stayed still.

‘I know what will shift him,’ said another, reaching into his leather bag. He pulled out a lamb cutlet and waved it over Hoppy’s nose.

Nothing.

They tried all sorts of teases, but Hoppy didn’t move. Finally, I clicked with my tongue and Hoppy leapt into life.

‘Remarkable, isn’t he, Will?’ said a player.

Master Shakespeare looked thoughtful. ‘He certainly is. Get some rest, Billy-Odd-Job,’ he said. ‘Master Burbage and I want you at rehearsals tomorrow.’

My legs went weak. ‘Do you mean—?’

He smiled.‘You’ve been punished enough. Tomorrow morning you will be in the rehearsal for the marketplace scene in
Romeo and Juliet
.’ He bent to stroke Hoppy.
‘Your dog can be there, too. It would be natural for a boy to take his dog to market. This little beast is well behaved enough.’

A wave of happiness washed over me. I grabbed Hoppy and hugged him and this time my tears were real.

I spent a wakeful night. Not because of scuttling rats – because of joy. My dream was about to come true.

I could not eat the breakfast old John Merry brought me. I was desperate for rehearsals to begin.

When everyone had arrived, Master Burbage said, ‘Those who do not have a speaking part must be on stage as bystanders.’

Then he told me, ‘You must pretend to buy fruit from that stall.’

I looked where he pointed. ‘What stall?’

‘For rehearsal, you must imagine it. We shall see how well you act, boy.’ He turned away. ‘I want Sampson, Gregory and Abraham to speak their lines. Benvolio, once they start
fighting, be ready to break in.’ He looked around. ‘We have acted this play many times. Today, pretend it’s the first time – make it come alive!’

It was my first time, and even though it was only a rehearsal, my hands shook. Master Shakespeare stood in the shadows, watching. William Shakespeare, watching me!

One of the players whispered, ‘I’m the fruit seller, Billy. Talk to me without making a sound. Just move your lips.’

I nodded. When Master Burbage said, ‘Begin!’ I picked up a pretend apple, looked at it and put it back. I was aware of the players behind me speaking their parts, but I tried to
imagine myself to be someone just shopping in the market. I examined more fruit, and picked up a pear. Without making a sound, I asked the fruit seller how much it was. I don’t know what he
said back, but I shook my head as if it was too expensive.

Suddenly there was a commotion behind me. Swords clashed. How should I act? If this were real, I would turn and look. I did so, then darted backwards as if I was afraid I might
be hurt.

Master Burbage strode to the middle of the stage. ‘Stop!’ he cried. ‘You call this a fight? You are like children hitting each other with rattles. Everyone else leave the
stage. We must work on this fight if we are to convince tomorrow’s audience that you are even the slightest bit annoyed at each other.’

My first rehearsal had lasted a matter of minutes.

But then, Master Burbage leaned over and said, ‘You did well, Billy.’ He looked over my shoulder. ‘Did he not, Will?’

I spun round. Master Shakespeare smiled. ‘He did indeed. You have the instincts of a true player.’

I felt warm inside. Those words, from the greatest playwright in the land, meant so much.

I did my morning tasks. Not even being sneered at by Nick Ratter made them hard. In fact, they had never seemed so light and easy.

After our meal break, the players went to dress for the afternoon performance, then people began arriving, clutching pennies for the box man. The groundlings, standing in the yard, had the best
view in my opinion. They loved to cheer and jeer and bandy words with the players.

As I showed richer people to their seats, the food sellers came in to sell their wares. Soon the aromas of hot pies and roast chestnuts mixed with the fresh tang of oranges. I closed my eyes,
breathed it all in, the smells, the chatter and laughter from the crowd and thought, for the hundredth time, ‘I love everything about the playhouse. This is where I want to spend my
life.’ I could not bear the thought of becoming a secretary like my father, doing the same dreary tasks day after day.

When the play began, I took a moment to nip outside to let Hoppy cock his leg. As I walked back in, a hand touched my shoulder.

I turned.

‘Mother!’

I closed my eyes waiting for the blow, but it never came. When I opened them, I saw no anger in my mother’s face.

I took her hand. ‘I missed you. But I had to come. I had to have my chance, and tomorrow I will.’

She spoke for the first time.‘I have opened up the house and lit the fires. Come home now, Billy. Wash and put on clean clothes. You smell like a street child.’